


Though Lovers Be Lost

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-08
Updated: 2009-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bittersweet tale of sacrifice: Just how much will Hercules sacrifice to keep his best friend alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though Lovers Be Lost

In a dark chamber that exists outside time and space, the clack-clack of the unceasing loom is the only sound. This is the great Tapestry of Life, its warp and weft dictated by a force even the gods barely comprehend. Beside the loom, a child sits. Her fingers, never still, spin threads of life from the raw force of chaos. Clotho is a child in appearance, yet her eyes betray her true age, and her true nature. Near Clotho, an older woman works. She is Lachesis, the second of the Fates. The management of this great Tapestry is hers, though even she may not control it. She and her sisters have influence sometimes and vision, always, but little more. Their actions are circumscribed by necessity and dictated by the Tapestry itself.

Before these two there is a window, which looks out upon the mortal world. They hardly need it, for they can read events in the threads themselves as easily as they can spin, measure…and cut. Yet the window has its purpose, for some things are always unclear. Some events are unpredictable. Sometimes things happen outside the Fates’ ken.

Through the window, they look upon night. A man sits alone. He is a man the three Fates have come to know well; a half-immortal hero with whom they have had frequent, if indirect, dealings. At his behest, three threads of life that had been cut, were once repaired. The Fates remember such things.

The man is no longer alone. Two threads, intertwined since their first encounter, are about to meet once more. The Fates watch the meeting with some little interest. It will not last long, though it _is_ one of those events, a nexus thrown randomly up by Time, that will determine the future pattern of the Tapestry.

The Fates’ dark chamber falls silent as the great loom, for just an instant, stills.

Into the silence comes a single sound. The _snip_ of Atropos’ scissors as a thread of life is cut.

The sisters resume their interrupted work. The clack-clack of the great loom begins anew.

Life goes on.

***

Hercules watched, uncomprehending, as the dagger fell from his nerveless fingers. The polished, so-familiar blade was bloody to the hilt. Dark blood. Heart’s blood.

The same as the blood that stained his clothing, that lay on his skin and hair, that he could taste, somehow, like iron in his mouth.

The same as the blood even now flowing from the still-warm body before him.

The same as the blood pumped by the heart that had, until this moment, been beating in life-affirming rhythm with his own; the heart he knew and loved and depended on for his very breath. Now stilled.

By his own hand.

The part of him that was not paralysed with the shock reached out a shaking hand to close the dead man’s eyes. His own vision was blurring, whether with tears or approaching darkness he neither knew nor cared. Yet cruel memory supplied an image of those eyes clearer than his sight could: laughing, blue eyes always so full of life…gone.

Closed for the last time.

Why?

Hercules gathered the cooling flesh into his arms. Holding close against his chest the body — the mere shell — of the man he loved more than life, the demigod lifted his face to the heavens and screamed. Screamed his denial, his loss, his guilt to the uncaring skies. Screamed the unanswerable _why_ to the gods. Screamed his grief until his throat was raw and painful, until his voice was scoured to a bare whisper. He barely noticed the pain.

The agony of his heart was greater.

***

Why?

In a way, that was the easy question.

Two days before they had parted. The clasp of Iolaus’ hand around his wrist spoke as plainly as their shared passion during the night just past. Told Hercules without words that this parting was none of the hunter’s choosing. It was simply better answer this particular summons alone. Hercules saw the sense of that. They parted, as always, with a shared smile. Iolaus’ eyes held a laughing promise: _You’ll see me again, soon._

Hercules was looking forward to it.

Watching his lover walk away from him, down the road toward Attica: the spring in the hunter’s step, his jaunty wave when he glanced back to see the demigod still watching him, the sword slung over his shoulder…Hercules remembered their loving that night, savouring the memory that would comfort him through the next few days. A thousand kisses in a hundred different places…the salt and bitter taste of Iolaus’ essence…the touch of his knowing hands… the sweet pain and overwhelming fullness of Iolaus inside him…oh gods, what was he _thinking_ to spend time apart from him?

As his lover, his heart’s true home, turned the corner out of his sight, Hercules began to walk away.

A few hours later when he stopped for a quick meal at the roadside, Hercules found Iolaus’ dagger in his pack. He frowned to himself, wondering what had prompted his unpredictable lover to leave it behind. Then he remembered that they had packed in something of a hurry that morning. The dagger had probably just got mixed up with Hercules’ things.

He turned the naked blade over in his hands. The sheath had been lost…months ago, now. But the blade remained, its sleek lines and polished steel unchanged since the day they had forged it together, so long ago. It was so much a part of his lover… With a small shrug, Hercules placed the dagger in his own belt.

(Why had he done that? If _only_ he’d left the damn thing where it was.)

(_Why?_)

The following evening, and as darkness fell, Hercules was almost at his destination. The village was just a few miles further down the road, but he decided he would spend the night where he was and go on to the village in the morning. If he got there tonight they’d want to throw a party or something…and bereft of his lover Hercules wasn’t in that sort of a mood.

He lay down beside his small campfire and tried to sleep. Thoughts of Iolaus wouldn’t let him rest.

The way the sun shone on his golden hair…Iolaus whistling as they walked the roads of Greece…his laughter…

Iolaus’ blue eyes, sparkling with anticipation as he slowly let his vest fall to the ground. His hands unbuckling his belts, while his eyes never left Hercules’. The codpiece next, and Iolaus was reaching inside the leather to caress himself, dancing out of Hercules’ reach as the demigod made a grab for his lover…Iolaus touching himself while Hercules watched, breathless…teasing with a look, a touch, a whispered word until Hercules couldn’t stand it any longer…his eyes filled with the impossible beauty that was Iolaus, while his body hungered for more…and then, oh, gods, just to touch him, to taste…drown deep in his love…this, _here_, is his only home, his only love…

(Gone. Oh gods, how would he ever bear it?)

(_I deserve it. He’s dead by my hand. The crime creates its own punishment._)

Lost in erotic memory, Hercules hadn’t even seen or heard his assailant until it was too late.

A silent attack out of the darkness. He rolled out of the way of the first blow just in time, leaping to his feet as he escaped. His attacker — a dark silhouette, no more — came at him again. He had grabbed, without thinking the dagger at his waist…

And it was over.

Only when it was too late did he get a real look at his assailant. One look was enough.

_Gods, Iolaus, what kind of a stupid practical joke…_

_…Iolaus…?_

Blood on his hands. Blood on his clothing. Heart’s blood.

_No… Oh, please. I didn’t know…_

_This is a joke, right? In a minute you’ll be laughing at how scared I am. Damned poor joke, love._

(Why?)

***

This had happened before. He remembered, vividly, feeling his lover’s (no, only his friend, then) life-blood warm on his hands, when Iolaus died in the Amazons’ forest near Gargarencia. But that time, because of Hera, because so much had happened that should never have happened, because grief and rage and revelation combined to create the conviction that what he needed _was_ possible, there had been a way out. A way to set everything right. Hercules had known, then, that he could never again ask his father for help.

"Could you love a woman as you loved Iolaus?"

Hippolyta’s words, never intended to wound, had flayed his heart open and exposed — too late! — the feelings he had hidden from himself. And he had wept, and wept, for grief, not only for his friend, but for a love discovered too late.

"You don’t understand how important this is," he had told Zeus at the end. "Three lives, three good people have died." Begging his father for three lives, he would have settled for just one. And it wasn’t the Amazon Queen who had met his turbulent heart with a fire and passion of her own.

Somehow, it seemed, Zeus had understood.

And he had been given his second chance.

Zeus had taken him back to the beginning. He could stop it all. He could tell Iolaus how he felt. He could put everything right.

"Those two belong together, don’t they?"

Alcmene’s innocent remark pierced his heart anew. Just how selfish _was_ he? Alcmene was right: Iolaus was happy with Ania. What right had he to interfere now, a week before their wedding?

He had said nothing.

He stood up as best man at Iolaus’ wedding, and hated every moment. Unrequited love was painful. He had tried to stay for a while, allowed himself to be persuaded to be a part of their shared life, but in the end, Iolaus’ obvious happiness had driven him away. Hercules just couldn’t bear to see them together, every day. Too hard to be around someone he loved, and wanted and needed, unable to say anything, forced to pretend he felt only friendship. Then, after a year-long absence that had smoothed the edges, but not lessened the weight of his misery, Hercules had returned. To find Iolaus mourning his Ania’s death in childbirth, only days before.

Guilt hurt more than unrequited love. Guilt, burning hot like a brand, because a hidden, selfish part of him rejoiced that his rival was gone.

Yet that had been the beginning for them. Somehow, from the ashes of shared pain had risen renewed friendship. Love and passion followed, and though part of Iolaus would grieve forever, he couldn’t feel guilty for falling in love again…

(Why? Why?)

And they had been together ever since. Hercules had brought him back from the dead. Hercules would treasure him for the rest of their lives.

(So we said. Oh, gods…)

There was nothing to cling to this time. No hope of a second reprieve.

Hercules was spent, but the jagged edges of grief and guilt and despair were still so sharp. This is how it would always be, he realised. This pain would not fade with time. This wound would never heal. Why should it?

His heart was dead.

Gods, no. That way could lead only to madness, and even through the agony his very soul recoiled from the implications of that.

But what could he do?

He held the lifeless body of his lover in his arms. Just a lump of meat. The joy, the love, everything that made Iolaus what he was — gone. With a single, thoughtless moment, Hercules had destroyed everything that made his life worthwhile.

Why?

Oh, Zeus, why?

Why hadn’t he stopped? Why didn’t he stay his hand for just a moment? Why hadn’t Iolaus spoken before…before he… why? _**Why??**_

This couldn’t be.

There _had_ to be something he could do. Or someone who could help.

And now the hero was crying. Salt stung his eyes as the tears flowed down his cheeks, falling into the soft hair of the man he held so tightly.

_This can’t be happening._

_Help me. Oh, gods, I can’t take this._

"Father," he murmured brokenly. "Zeus, help me, please." Again, his voice still raw, but with stronger will, now, reaching out, "Father, please. At least answer me."

***

"Let me answer him."

It is Atropos who looks up, the regular rasp of her twin blades ceasing briefly as she regards the dark-robed god with cynical eyes. "To what purpose, Zeus?" she asks. A gnarled hand raises her scissors menacingly. "Would you stay the hand of death for him again?"

Zeus recognises the threat her words contain. His only response is to repeat his request. "Let me answer him."

Lachesis’ hand passes across the Tapestry, as she contemplates the intersections of the demigod’s life. "It is time," she decides, "for Hercules to learn the true meaning of loss."

"Let me answer him." No request, this third time, but a demand from the King of the Gods.

The high, sweet voice of the child replies. "What will you say to him, Zeus? There is no remedy for this within the rules that bind you."

"I will tell him the truth."

Aged Atropos smiles thinly. "Then go."

There is a golden flash of light as Zeus vanishes from the Fates’ chamber.

The sisters resume their work again. Clotho, spinning the threads of lives for Atropos to cut, her eyes idly on the window they shared. Lachesis waves a hand over the great Tapestry once more, aware of the singularly bright thread so recently cut, noting the lives it would have touched. Curiosity impels her to trace that cut thread back, looking for the nexus that made this death inevitable. She has found it. And found something else, too.

Then her eyes drift to their window again as the scene within it shifts to another part of the world.

Life goes on.

***

Dawn. The rising of Apollo’s golden chariot sent rosy fingers of light and cloud across the sky.

Hercules looked up into his father’s eyes, even now still cradling the cool body of his friend and lover. There were no tears left in him. No words. His eyes felt like sand: the result of hours and hours of useless tears. His fabled strength was spent by emotion. And still, the pain was a jagged blade in his soul.

"Father…?" It was a plea.

"Who killed him?" Zeus already knew the answer but it was the first, necessary question. His expression showed only compassion as he moved closer to his son.

Dully, Hercules gave him the truth. "I did."

"Son…you have to let go, now."

"I can’t." The emotionless tone masked overwhelming agony. "Please?" he asked.

Slowly, Zeus shook his head. "I can’t undo the work of another god."

At that Hercules’ eyes narrowed, glittering with suspicion. "Which god?" he demanded instantly.

"You misunderstand, son. I meant you."

Even vengeance denied him, Hercules’ shoulders slumped. "I’m no god." _If I was, I could heal him…_

"Not yet. But the rules still apply."

Any other day, Hercules would have pounced on that statement. Today, he let it pass, barely noticed. "Please. I can’t think. I can’t go on alone. I need Iolaus."

"Son…"

Hercules heard the regret in his father’s voice. He had no need to hear more. "Then send me to join him," he begged. "I’d rather die than live with this."

"I can’t do that either. There are rules about gods killing gods. And…" — compassion edging toward pity — "I’m afraid that means you can’t take your own life, either."

"Try and stop me," Hercules threatened. That knife was still around somewhere…

"I said, can’t, not mustn’t. Hercules, you’re not listening to me."

_Of course I’m not listening. There’s no point. Nothing matters now._

"The gods can’t help you, Hercules. But there _are_ greater powers."

Hercules looked up, those last words finally reaching him. Hope flared, wild and hot in his breast. _The Fates._

***

No mortal can enter the realm of the Fates alone. Hercules enters the dark chamber at his father’s side. Scant protection, considering that Atropos can cut the thread of even a god, should she deem it necessary. Hercules cares nothing for that. All he knows is that Iolaus, his lover, is dead.

"Why have you come?" The clear voice of Clotho fills the chamber. She looks up at the demigod, her eyes narrow as she takes note of the ravages of grief his mortal body displays. Her hands never cease their spinning.

He can barely speak. "Iolaus…my — my lover. I came to beg for his life."

"A life _you_ ended." Atropos’ voice holds neither censure nor pity. She merely states the facts.

Hercules has no reply.

There is silence, broken only by the constant clack-clack of the loom.

Then Clotho speaks a single word. "Leave."

Only when he sees the soft flash of golden light does Hercules realise she was speaking to Zeus.

Clotho gestures with both hands toward the Fates’ window. "Look," she tells the demigod.

***

_"No, Iolaus! Stay at my back!"_

_The hunter ignored his shout, reckless in his pursuit of the masked "beast" who had wounded him. Fighting off two others, he caught his quarry and ripped the animal mask away. Beneath the mask, flame-red hair framed a woman’s beautiful face. Iolaus stared in shock for a moment. Then he realised what this meant: what this battle was really about. He yelled the information over his shoulder._

_His brief moment of distraction was all it took. The Amazon pulled a knife…_

_Hercules, too far away, saw it all too clearly. "Iolaus!" he shouted, uselessly. He rushed to his friend’s side. Too late. Even as he denied it, he knew it was too late._

***

_Iolaus (_a younger Iolaus, Hercules saw_) ducked as another punch came his way. It was a street brawl of some kind; Iolaus dressed in unfamiliar rags, fighting side by side with an unfamiliar man. A sword Iolaus never saw coming descended toward his exposed back. He fell, dead before he hit the floor, the bloody point of the sword emerging from his chest the last thing he saw._

***

Hercules reaches out toward the window, as if he can somehow touch the scene, stop what is happening.

***

_Another place, another woman: this one an exotic beauty. A dagger thrown, intended for her. Iolaus threw himself in front of her, blocking the dagger with his own body, taking a mortal wound to his heart._

***

_Iolaus (_was that **really** Iolaus?_) wearing royal robes, killed by an arrow as he fought in an ornate chamber._

***

_A sandy riverbank. Hercules was walking with his mother and Jason, talking over old times. He heard his name and looked up to see Iolaus fall, the hunter’s  broken body rolling down the bank to his feet._

_"Iolaus?"_

_A warning, gasped out with his dying breath._

_Jason’s voice, thick with sorrow. "Hercules, he’s dead."_

No. Nooooo!!!

***

"Iolaus…" Hercules murmurs brokenly. This sight is more than he can bear. Yet it continues, relentless as the march of time.

***

_A woman warrior, raven-haired and blue-eyed, screamed a piercing warcry as she attacked(_who the hell…?_)._

_Iolaus pushed his way in front of Hercules. "Xena, this isn’t…" He got no further. Her sword pierced his body, her eyes bored into the demigod’s. She didn’t even seem to notice the man she had killed._

***

_Hercules sat alone in the darkness, his thoughts full of his lover. From the shadows a man attacked. Hercules pulled the dagger from his belt…_

***

Hercules closes his eyes to the sight, turning away. "Why are you doing this? Why torture me?" Yet in his heart, he knows he deserves far worse punishment.

"It is," Atropos tells him, "the destiny of mortals to die." The rasp of her scissors accompanies her words.

Clotho raises her hands, a new thread of life held between her small fingers. "You want to restore your lover’s thread?"

"He is mortal," Lachesis insists. "He will die again. Who are you to chose his destiny for him?"

"I love him." It is all Hercules can think of.

A small smile of amusement crossed Lachesis’ stern features. "Is that supposed to answer my question?"

Before Hercules can reply, Clotho speaks. "What price will you pay for your love?"

"What sacrifice can you offer?" Atropos adds grimly.

Hercules grasps desperately at the fragile hope they offer. "Anything. Any price. My life for his if you want it. Please, give me some way to make this right."

Suddenly there is silence, utter silence as the great loom ceases.

"His destiny gives him the right to asks this," Lachesis says to her older sister.

"Would you re-measure a thread I have cut?" Atropos responds mildly.

"Remake," Clotho corrects. "Not re-measure."

Hercules dares not breathe. They seem to have forgotten he is listening.

Lachesis nods. "If necessity demands it. It can be done."

"He must," insists grim Atropos, "understand the cost."

Hercules feels the hand of the Fate cold upon his flesh. There is a whirl of sensation and the dark chamber seems to fade away. There is a series of images in his head: faces, places. Some he recognises. Others he feels he should, but does not. There is more, but it goes by too fast, is too confusing. And he will forget when it is over.

***

"You have the right to ask, Hercules," Lachesis said. She stood, cloaked and hooded at his side. "Understand, no one _commands_ the Tapestry. Not even the Fates."

"Where are we?" They stood in greyness. Nothing. As if they were somehow outside the world.

"Not outside," Lachesis smiled gently. "Deep within. This is the Tapestry itself."

"How…?"

"No questions. You are here to watch."

Hercules shook his head. The image of his lover’s body falling to the ground rose in his mind once again. "I think I’ve seen enough."

"You’ve seen _nothing_." Lachesis gestured and the greyness that surrounded them transformed into a multitude of tiny threads. Hercules could only watch as the Tapestry moved around them.

"There is a balance to all things," Lachesis told him. "For every good, there must be evil. For every right, wrong, for every death, life. My sisters and I maintain this balance. We can change some things, but only at a cost to others. The balance is all."

Threads were thickening around them as she spoke. Lachesis moved, seeking a single one. "Here," she said softly. She touched the thread, now rope-thick, indicating Hercules should do the same. "You can only observe, Hercules. Don’t fear causing harm."

Reassured, he obeyed…and snatched his hand back quickly. "Iolaus?"

"His life," she confirmed. "Learn. Understand."

Swallowing his fear and grief, Hercules reached out again.

***

_Elation. Breath coming fast in his excitement, his triumph at having surprised his lover. Seeing the flash of metal, but thinking nothing of it as he attacks again. Then pain. Cold._

_Hercules? Oh, gods, I’m sorry, I never…_

_Darkness surrounding him. He can’t see. Can’t feel._

_Herc…_

_Nothing._

***

Hercules found fresh tears in his eyes. His throat was tight and painful. He couldn’t breathe. But in this place, breath wasn’t a necessity. _Oh gods, Iolaus…_

Why?

"Necessity." Lachesis answered the unspoken question succinctly. "Every action you take has a consequence. In order to preserve the balance, his thread had to be cut at this point. The only way to change it is to redirect that thread at an earlier point, so it never reaches this particular nexus."

All he heard was, "The…way to change it…"

"Then you _can_ do it? You can save his life?"

Lachesis shook her head. "You heard nothing of my sister’s warning, did you? He is _mortal_. Nothing can _save_ his life, we can only change it."

"Then do it. Please."

"Just like your father," Lachesis muttered. She offered her hand to the demigod; he took it with some trepidation. "Come. See the Tapestry with _my_ sight."

He did.

It was…indescribable. Just the merest glimpse of cause and effect, of the order of the universe. His mind shuddered away from such immensity. This knowledge was not for him. Gaining some control, he narrowed his focus to the only thing that still mattered to him.

Iolaus.

Even the thought of his name renewed the pain lancing through his heart.

Easy now to see the love they had shared. Their lives intertwined, destined from the first day they had met…perhaps from before that. He saw their many meetings and partings. Saw the times they had made love: their passion remained in the Tapestry as glowing points within their lives. He glimpsed, too, his own destiny, the reason the Fates were willing to let him see all this.

And Hercules saw what Lachesis already knew: the events, in the complexity of the Tapestry, that had made Iolaus’ death inevitable. He was forced to concede that Lachesis had been right. There was no saving him. Only alternate deaths.

Alternate…

Not caring if this was allowed, Hercules concentrated on those alternatives, one by one. Everything he had seen in the Fates’ window. He could ask, Lachesis had said. So there had to be a way. There _had to be._

Hercules wouldn’t allow any other possibility.

"Here…" Lachesis’ soft voice led him on. He saw the path she indicated, and began to breathe again.

Could it be so simple?

"It is that simple. And that complex."

Unsure what she means, he reached out to touch that precious thread of life again…

***

_"Oh, gods, Herc…" Iolaus was moaning his lover’s name, over and over._

***

"Do you understand, now?" Lachesis asked him.

Oh gods, could there be tears enough for this? Yes. Oh, yes, he understood now.

"There has to be another way," he insisted. "Take _my_ life, if you have to, but not…"

She was already shaking her head. "You would bring chaos to the world, tear the Tapestry asunder to satisfy your selfish needs? Then you are truly your father’s son."

***

They are back in the Fates’ chamber. If, indeed, they ever left it.

Hercules finds his face wet with tears again. He makes no attempt to hide them, or to stop them. Pride, self-worth, respect — all are gone from him, wiped away by what he knows. The choice he has been given to make.

The three Fates regard him silently.

"I…" he begins to speak. But there are no words. How can he say it? He cannot lose his lover. He cannot. And yet…

Whatever he decides, he cannot win.

***

Hercules woke.

For a moment he remembered nothing. He was lying in a bed, alone. The sun shone through a shuttered window, illuminating a whitewashed chamber that seemed familiar.

_"We will give you a day and a night of your past," the Fates had told him. "Make what changes you will, but beware. Your choices, once made, cannot be unmade."_

He understood.

But where was he? And when?

Well, he wasn’t going to find out in bed. He swung his legs over the side and reached for his clothing, a neat pile beside the bed. Dressed, he pushed the door open and instantly knew where he was. Iolaus’ home.

Iolaus!

_"Make what changes you will…"_

His first impulse was to search out his lover. He wanted, needed, to celebrate this life returned to him. He stopped himself in time. He knew when he was, now. Remembered the choice he had to make…had made…must make…oh, gods, don’t make me do this…

Iolaus forced a smile and looked up from his untouched breakfast to see Hercules in the doorway. He sighed and pushed his plate away. The hunter did not look good. His normally wild golden curls were lank and dull. His face — the face Hercules loved so much — was pale and haggard. What a change grief wrought in him!

"Iolaus," Hercules said, walking toward him. He remembered his lover’s face as it had looked in death. _But how can I…_ "Iolaus, you’ve got to eat," he said gently.

The hunter shook his head. "I can’t."

Firmly, Hercules pushed the plate back in front of his friend. "Are you going to make me feed you?" Ruthlessly suppressing thoughts of the erotic possibilities of _that_.

"You won’t," Iolaus answered. He didn’t sound as if he cared.

Hercules remembered this conversation. Not long after Ania had died. He had done everything he could to comfort his friend, but nothing seemed to work. Until this morning. The morning when Iolaus had hurt his shoulder in the forge and Hercules had tried to help him with a shoulder rub…

***

_Just to have his hands on that creamy skin…Hercules wanted so much to…_

_To **what**? Throw myself at him when he’s only just lost his wife? What kind of a friend would that make me?_

_Iolaus cried out sharply as Hercules’ fingers found a sensitive spot. Hercules jerked his hand away; Iolaus reached for his hand and placed it back on his shoulder. Hercules could feel the bone through the muscle. The amount of weight Iolaus had lost in just a few days worried him. Could grief like this kill?_

_"It’s okay, Herc." Iolaus said. "I’m okay."_

_Iolaus’ small fingers covering his own… "No," he said, his firm tone covering his real feelings. "You’re not." They both knew he wasn’t talking about the shoulder._

_Iolaus turned his face away from his friend, saying nothing._

_"Iolaus…" Hercules shifted around so he could see the hunter. What he saw broke his heart — again. "Iolaus, come here." He pulled his friend into his arms, holding him there, safe, while the hunter wept. It took a long time. Hercules’ acceptance of his grief opened the floodgates and Iolaus clung to him, needing that strength, that support._

_"It’s alright, Iolaus," Hercules murmured softly. "Just let it out. I’m here. It’s okay." He found he was stroking the other man’s hair, comforting him like a child. But it seemed right. "It’s okay, you’re not alone now." That was his guilt speaking: that his own selfish desires had kept him away when his friend needed him. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he bent his head and kissed the blonde head._

_Iolaus’ tears were spent, and he looked up into his friend’s eyes. "Herc…?"_

_Hercules heard the question, but didn’t at first, realise what he was being asked._

_"Herc?" Iolaus asked again._

_Hercules was suddenly overly conscious of their position: he was holding Iolaus tightly against his body, both of them curled around each other on the floor of the hot forge. He remembered the texture of his friend’s hair against his lips…the scent of him, fresh sweat mixed with musk filling his nostrils… He was suddenly aware, with a flash of guilt, that he was aroused. "Oh, gods, Iolaus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…"_

_"I hope you don’t mean that, Hercules." Iolaus leaned against his friend’s chest. "I wasn’t wrong before. Was I?"_

_He couldn’t lie, not now, not here. "No," he admitted._

_His breath caught in his throat as he felt his friend’s lips on his skin. Then Iolaus looked up at him again. "Please?"_

_There was no thought of resistance. No consideration of whether this could be wrong, so soon after Iolaus’ loss. "Whatever you need," Hercules said quietly, and bent down for a kiss. It couldn’t be wrong; it felt too right._

***

"Herc? You okay?"

Iolaus’ voice didn’t help his veering thoughts. Memories of the future. Gods, how was he ever going to get through this? If he was going to try and change things, this was the time to start. If.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking."

"Going to tell me?"

"Maybe…maybe we should get out of here. It’s not helping you to be around this house all day. We could go fishing, or something?" He named one of his friend’s favourite pastimes hopefully. If they could just spend the day somewhere else…

Iolaus shrugged. "I dunno, Herc. I was going to fix that…"

"It can wait. Come on. Give yourself a break."

A sigh, and another forced smile. "Okay," he agreed, without enthusiasm.

Hercules smiled with some relief. "Great. And _eat_ something," he instructed firmly.

***

"So what were you doing all year?" Iolaus asked him.

Hercules shrugged. "Nothing new. Killed a giant. Fought a monster or two. Hera got in my way once. The usual."

"Then what stopped you visiting?"

"Um…nothing…really. I mean, I wanted to see you. I just…"

"I just felt like you were avoiding me, that’s all." Iolaus turned to face him.

_I was…_ Hercules shook his head firmly. "Why would I…"

"I thought about that. I don’t know. I even wondered if maybe you were jealous — "

"What?" Hercules interrupted, too sharply.

How could he avoid this conversation? Everything was happening again just as he remembered it. The setting had changed; the words were the same.

_But you don’t **want** to avoid it, Hercules. You want to hear him say it all again…and if you can’t change things, he’ll die._

"Well, you know, she’s…she was a beautiful woman. I thought maybe…"

"No," he said softly. _No, it’s not her I wanted, Iolaus._

Iolaus didn’t reply, just stared out over the water.

Hercules watched his friend. It felt so strange, reliving this part of his life. It had been, when it happened, one of the most memorable days of his life, by turns frightening and wonderful: the gift of a love he had thought forever beyond him. Now, somehow, he had to make sure that it never happened.

If he couldn’t…

_The dagger falling from his hand…the taste of blood in his mouth…the smell of blood all around him…lifting the cooling body of his lover into his arms…_

His lover.

Sacrifice his lover to save Iolaus’ life.

Lose all those years. Spend the rest of his life looking at Iolaus with hungry eyes, dreaming of him, wanting him. Loving him. Knowing what could have been.

What would have been. _Iolaus’ blood on his hands._

_What would he say, if I could ask him? Would he think what we had was worth it? He might._ He felt tears sting his eyes and blinked them back hurriedly. If Iolaus saw them, he would want an explanation. What could he tell him? _Be honest, Hercules. What Iolaus would want isn’t the issue. **I’m** the one who can’t live with what happened. But I can’t live without him either._

"Herc?" Iolaus said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?"

"Let’s go swimming."

_Oh gods, no. I can’t handle that!_

"Sure."

***

_What a day!_ Hercules thought, closing the bedchamber door behind him with some relief. The Fates gave him a day and a night. Somehow, he had gotten through the day. It had been harder than he could have dreamed…pun definitely intended. He didn’t remember being so… so in need all those years ago. Then again, he hadn’t known what he was missing, then. Now every look, every touch, sparked a memory. And the icy water of the pool where they had been swimming hadn't been cold enough.

It wasn't just sexual. He was in love with Iolaus. They might be just friends in this here-and-now, but from Hercules’ perspective they had been committed lovers for many years. He knew how it felt to touch him. He knew where and how and for how long and he knew exactly how he would respond. Spending the day with him, unable to give voice or action to his feelings had been torture. So many gestures, phrases…it was all so familiar…and so different.

Like taking that swim. Iolaus had seemed better than he had been first thing. His smile was genuine, not forced, and he was ready to at least try and have fun. Standing waist-deep in the water, he had looked back over his shoulder at Hercules and challenged, "Come and get me, hero!" before he started to swim rapidly away.

Hercules, for a moment forgetting everything except the game, had caught him easily. In the simple joy of holding him once again, he had almost claimed his prize right there and then…and turned away abruptly to hide his arousal, diving deep into the water and away from Iolaus…from temptation.

He wasn’t sure if he’d succeeded in hiding his feelings or not.

Just get through the night.

Easier said than done. He couldn’t possibly sleep. Was he doing the right thing? He knew that the love they had discovered and shared had helped Iolaus through his loss. Was he condemning Iolaus to more pain, by denying him that? He supposed he was. It would be worth it, though, for his life. It _had_ to be.

And yet…there was so much they would both lose. So much joy they had brought to each other. So much love. There was still time to…_no._ But if he sacrificed their love, would he forgive himself? Could he bear it?

Yes. For his life.

Iolaus would never know what they had lost. He would bear this burden alone, because he must.

Sleep was impossible.

Eventually Hercules got up, his chaotic thoughts driving him to activity. He pulled on his heavy leather trousers, nothing else, and walked quietly from the room. His random steps led him into the forge that adjoined Iolaus’ home. The brazier had been left burning, to heat the forge for the following day, and it cast an eerie orange glow over everything.

The first time they made love had been right here. On the rough stone floor of the forge, neither of them caring that the door was unbarred, nor willing to pause the few moments it would have taken them to reach the house and find a bed. It had been sweet and slow and tender, yet was over far too quickly. And Hercules remembered every touch, every sigh.

Ah, gods, he couldn’t bear it!

"Hercules?"

He turned to see Iolaus in the doorway. He wore a thin cloth draped around his hips and nothing else. Hercules couldn’t breathe.

"Herc, what’s wrong?"

The demigod shrugged awkwardly. "Nothing. I couldn’t sleep. That’s all."

The hunter shook his head, making a disappointed sound under his breath. "You’re lying to me, Herc." He moved closer to his friend, resting a hand lightly on Hercules’ forearm. "I know I haven’t been myself lately," he told him. "But I can still tell when something’s wrong with you." He squeezed the arm he held gently. "And I’m not stupid, buddy. You didn’t come here because you heard about Ania, did you? It was something else."

Hercules swallowed, trying to clear the sudden constriction of his throat. Iolaus read him far too easily. He couldn’t lie, not only because Iolaus was his best friend, but because Iolaus would spot an untruth. Yet he didn’t dare tell him the truth, either. Silence was his only refuge. Iolaus’ hand resting lightly on his arm, Iolaus’ eyes, filled with concern, gently encouraging him to speak, to confide… Hercules wanted him so badly, _knew_ that all he had to do was reach out and Iolaus would be his again…

Iolaus sighed in exasperation. "You won’t tell me." His eyes never left the demigod’s face. "Okay. It’s up to you."

Hercules almost began to breathe again. Then the hunter slid his hand slowly from Hercules’ forearm to his bicep: a carefully ambiguous gesture, but one Hercules understood perfectly. He pulled his arm away from Iolaus’ touch quickly, feeling his own desire rise in response. "What are you doing?" he asked, not harshly. _Stupid question, Herc. Stupid question._ Like his body wasn’t getting the message.

"Do you really need me to say it, Herc?" Iolaus asked softly. He stepped closer still. Hercules felt the radiant heat of his friend’s body.

***

_One thrust of cold steel, too much of his strength behind it. The warm gush of blood over his hand and clothing as he pulled the dagger free. His first real look at his assailant’s face as the man fell…_

_Gods, Iolaus, what kind of a stupid practical joke…_

_…Iolaus…?_

***

"Iolaus, stop this," he commanded. When the order was not obeyed, fear and panic lent him uncharacteristic harshness. "Iolaus! Even if I wanted you… For Hades’ sake! Ania’s body’s hardly cold."

In the dim glow of the brazier, he could see Iolaus’ face turn white at his words, the blue eyes stricken. "Herc, I’m not — "

He couldn’t bear the pain in those eyes. Hercules had to turn away, knowing even as he did that the action would be misinterpreted as aversion or disgust. He reached for the words he knew he had to say, and hated himself for it. "I know what you think you’re doing, Iolaus. Get this straight now — it’s not going to happen."

He didn’t want to do this, to hurt Iolaus so badly when he was already hurting so much. But he’d been left with little choice. Turning back to face Iolaus, Hercules schooled his expression to anger, cursing himself and the Fates. "Not tonight. Not ever."

Pushing Iolaus out of his way, Hercules strode out of the forge. He made it back to the bedchamber before his tears began.

_Oh, gods, Iolaus, I love you. I love you._

***

In the chamber where the three Fates work, the great loom stills once more. A thread, twice cut, must be re-measured. The pattern of the Tapestry is changing.

Two threads, intertwined since their first meeting, must spend the span of two years apart. In that time, there is another thread, too, that must be re-directed, a thread now destined to interact with both men, though in very different ways. The thread of a young woman named Deianeira.

Thus the son of Zeus has changed the direction, not merely of his own life’s thread, but of many others he has touched. Lachesis, carefully adjusting the Tapestry’s balance, wonders if the demigod will find the altered path of his life compensation…or cost. No matter. The choice was his, and the Fates’ role is now only to maintain the balance once again.

He will retain the memory, though. He must. Perhaps only in dreams. Perhaps much more than that.

Life goes on.

***

Hercules saw his friend sitting on a rock beside the road and shook his head with amused frustration as he strode toward him. "I’ve been looking all over for you, Iolaus. If we’re going to make it to my mother’s by sundown we’d better get going." His easy stride had carried him straight past the hunter and Iolaus hadn’t moved. Hercules turned back to face him, for the first time realising that something was wrong. Something, no doubt, related to the message scroll his friend was holding so tightly. "Iolaus…? Are you alright?"

The hunter looked up, tapping the scroll against his cheek. "I got a message from Hector."

Hercules frowned, not recognising the name. "And Hector would be…?"

"He’s the aide to my cousin. You know — the one who’s a king."

"King Orestes?" Hercules said. Yes, he remembered now. Yet another of those weird coincidences that seemed to plague their lives. But what was in the scroll that could worry Iolaus so much? The demigod listened as Iolaus explained: trouble in Orestes’ kingdom. Something to do with King Xenon not wanting peace.

But that didn’t explain his friend’s agitation. With a flash of insight, Hercules realised what the problem was. "Niobe?" he guessed aloud.

Iolaus nodded sadly. "Niobe," he confirmed.

Hercules understood. "Iolaus, you’re both adults. I’m sure you can handle it." His jealousy was well-contained, and so familiar he rarely noticed it any more.

Iolaus shook his head, pacing. "That’s just it, Hercules. I don’t know if I can."

Hercules heard the pain in his friend’s voice: it resonated with his own, hidden torment. He sat down on the rock, closing his eyes briefly against the sting of old wounds. "Iolaus, I know how you feel about her. And I know it won’t be easy to face somebody that you…love…and can’t have." _Oh, gods, do I know!_ It had never faded, never become easier. He had loved others in his life and that love had been real, but none of them, not even Deianeira, had been able to quench his longing for Iolaus. His first love — and the only one he couldn’t have. Even though he knew all he had to do to end his torment was hold out his hand.

"But if something _did_ happen to her, or to your cousin…could you live with it?" Wisdom born of long experience. Sometimes, when the longing became too painful, Hercules would travel alone for a while. There were times when that was the only way he could cope. But he could never leave his friend for long.

Old Atropos’ words still haunted him: "It is the destiny of mortals to die."

_Not on my watch, Iolaus._

Iolaus nodded, apparently coming to a decision. "Yeah, you’re right. I couldn’t live with that."

_Neither could I…_ "Then you should go. You want me to come with you?"

A negative gesture. "I think…I should do this by myself.

Hercules stood in the middle of the road, watching Iolaus go. The spring had returned to the hunter’s step. When he glanced back and saw Hercules watching him he gave a jaunty wave. Hercules smiled to himself, a sad, lonely smile as his best friend turned a corner out of his sight.

_I love you, Iolaus. Maybe someday, before it’s too late, I can tell you._

.

_"Though lovers be lost, love shall not…"_


End file.
